


A Blue Moon Under Venus

by tea_petty



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M, First Time, Hand Jobs, Historical, Massage, Penis In Vagina Sex, Smut, Wedding Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:55:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26030776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tea_petty/pseuds/tea_petty
Summary: It is once again time for Romulus to choose a wife.
Relationships: Rome/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	1. The Wedding

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to my Tumblr; tea-pettiest

Romulus took lovers like the moon took phases, and like the day took nights. 

Marriages, he had to be a bit more prudent about, taking them up in seasons that matched up with the twilights of old acquaintances’ lives and the springs of new eligible bachelorettes. Now, it was once again time to choose a bride, a task that never stopped being daunting nor exciting, no matter how old he got.

Depending on who was in power, Romulus often earned the blessing of the emperor first; he had no such desire to do so with Commodus. Really, a few decades on earth had been long enough to realize that man was not to be trusted with that of which he held dear – especially wives. 

He almost felt a prickle of guilt; a sliver of doubt that needled into his side like a wayward thorn caught under his armor. He’d justified taking this woman as his wife under the argument that he could make sure she at least didn’t go hungry, that he was a strong, capable soldier, who could protect her as a husband should. 

A part of him knew better though, that he was bringing her into a den of vipers. Commodus couldn’t kill him – not in any real way of course, though poor Cleander could stand as enough of testimony that death wasn’t the only way to hurt an individual. 

Romulus looked across the bustling main square; venders were selling their wares, children were running about the streets playing, errands were being run – everyone seemed to do the same thing every day for as long as he could remember. People, he found, though they liked to believe that their lives were special and unique, to be the dazzling treasure gleaned like the inside of a geode through experiences, hard work, and with the blessings of the Gods, really moved with the consistency of the march of time itself. 

Romulus got a glimpse of her as she slipped from the entrance of the public bath, her skin and hair gleaming as the sun rode high at the apex of the sky. She was dazzling, with the healthy glow to her skin and a spryness to her movements Romulus hadn’t felt in his own soul since he’d been truly young. 

He couldn’t imagine bringing her so close to the schemes and plots of the political circles; Marcia, a woman caught in a web she was both weaving and escaping from at the same time. In taking his bride, was Romulus saving her, or handing her a death sentence?

From where he was standing in the market, she turned, her back to him. Her tunic, light as air, swathed around her body, not the least bit promiscuous, though Romulus was practiced at finding the contours of her beneath. He’d watched her in the market every day since she’d blossomed into womanhood. 

The word around town found his ears like a hound caught fresh meat; she was old to be unwed, something that had started with her meager dowry, and which ended in a passionless cycle that most everyone assumed would make her a spinster.

Romulus felt sick at the excitement that welled in him at this thought; just his luck she had no prospects – it was like fate had been saving her for him. Bring this poor woman up in the dirt, and make her a bride for a man who had no more need for wealth, as he’d had several lifetimes prior to put down roots, and now, like the mighty oak, what strong and proud roots they were.

It was mid-way through the heavy summer months when Romulus made the trek to the hilly cattle district on the outskirts of town, where she lived. 

It occurred to him that she probably hadn’t been watching him back; probably hadn’t the faintest idea that he was coming to call on her to propose marriage. To her, the days probably stretched out in a seemingly-infinite tapestry; the colors generally unchanging, like the transparent clouds that mingled with the azure sky. 

He was the winds of change, ready to blow heavy ships that cut through tumultuous waters.

Her home was quaint; her father taking pride in being one of the few who owned their own land and worked it with their own hands. The pathway was worn and rugged leading up to the house; upon seeing no one tending to the sheep or in the fields, Romulus continued up to the home to knock on the worn door.

His knuckles sensed the levity of old, rotted wood. He made a mental note to offer his services or money – whichever they preferred to replace it.

There were a few moments of rustling on the inside – a woman’s voice, too old to be _hers_ sounded, and then a man’s coarse bark back. When the door opened, a haggard, callused man loomed in the doorway, a mousy woman peering out from behind him. From his peripheral vision, Romulus saw that _she_ wasn’t in.

“Who is it?” 

The man glowered at Romulus through shrewd, watery eyes. His voice was guarded; Romulus, while not strictly a soldier by trade, had a reputation from the battles he’d served in. 

He bowed deeply, wanting to establish off the bat that he was not the one with the power in this situation.

“Good day. I’m called Romulus, and I call upon you today to make a request; your daughter’s hand in marriage.”

Romulus knew that given their obvious class differences, that what he was asking and the suddenness with what he was asking, was cause for shock. He could detect none on this man’s face; he was simply met with the same sharp stare.

“ _My_ daughter?” the man looked Romulus up and down. “What could you want with her?” There was a pause. “Is she with child?”

Romulus felt his cheeks heat.

“No, no, I assure you, good Sir, I haven’t done anything to dishonor her or your family. I’m here to ask for your permission to bind our families.”

His family was technically just him, but he certainly had the resources of a well-established one within the city, and so really, the man could have no reason to complain.

Her father grimaced.

“She’s no budding flower. Her girlhood days are gone.”

“I know who I speak of,” Romulus smiled.

Quite honestly, her grandmother still constituted as being young for him, if they were operating off of actual age.

“She hasn’t a dowry.”

“That’s all very well Sir, I have no need for it.” There was another beat of silence as the man took this in. “I have every means to support her, she’d want for nothing,” Romulus added.

Without wounding his pride, Romulus hoped that he understood that this meant her family too, would want for nothing. The man looked him over, skeptical.

“What are you, a soldier?”

“I’ve fought before, but no, I’m not a soldier. I work closely with…governing. City planning.”

This was not a total lie. Back when the city was still being built, he’d certainly been there for the planning.

“What need have you for my daughter then?”

“My need for her is one only she can sate; for what the heart wants, there is no substitute,” he said, most earnestly.

His heart leaped in delight at the truth of this.

The man looked Romulus over, a deep frown still embossed on his grizzled features. 

“She will live well with me. I’ll never raise a hand against her.”

This was an easy thing to say and not mean, although Romulus did mean it. 

In any case, the man stuck out his hand, figuring he’d best accept the offer before it slipped through his thick fingers; a daughter with no prospects and a wealthy man come from in the city to ask for her hand – it sounded too good to be true.

“We’re in agreement then, Sir,” the man said, and Romulus realized it was the first time he’d addressed him. “I grant you her hand.”

Romulus stayed the remainder of the day at the hut, huddling his large stature at the low-sitting, quaint table inside as they all awaited her return.

He’d already had the ring ready, the engagement agreement drafted. 

This only worked because Romulus had nothing to ask for but their daughter herself. They had everything to gain from this arrangement – but unbeknownst to them, he felt he did as well.

Never one to cower, he’d stood on the frontlines of many battles; had felt the bite of iron into his skin many times over, and had walked alongside death, many times, over the course of his too-long life. Still, there was no fear he knew that was as poignant as that of which he had as he slid the ring onto her finger.

He skirted her gaze, too afraid to look at her face and see fear or dismay, as he stared hard at her hand and the iron band that now rested on it. 

He tried to visualize the vein running up from the ring finger, to her heart. 

His own stuttered in his chest; he felt bound to her already, though the ceremony had yet to take place.

The wedding was set for a week later, with Romulus being too busy with work and preparations to see her all the while. 

The day of their wedding, there was scarcely a cloud in the sky; surely, that had to bode well, he thought.

He returned to the hut – the house of the _paterfamilias_ , where the verbal exchange had already taken place; her father had already announced his intent to hand over his daughter to him. There, the aforementioned daughter stood in her white tunic, belted with the knot of Hercules, and her orange _flammeum_ and shoes. His heart caught fire at the sight. 

Romulus’ hands were sweating, he realized, as the _pronuba_ joined his hand with his bride’s. Again, he was afraid to look at her. How soft she was, despite the hardened calluses at her palms and the undersides of her fingers – and how long had he wondered at this? He resisted the urge to enclose his own time-roughened hand around hers too tightly. He wanted nothing more than to enfold his entire self around her.

He barely heard the squeal of the pig or registered how its voice cut as the blade slipped against its throat. He looked at her now. The orange veil concealed her face from him but her grasp remained steady in his. 

Did she watch them kill the pig? 

Was she bothered by the sight of blood? 

He’d think that certainly, after growing up on a farm, there’d be very little about livestock, blood, or otherwise, that fazed her, but then again, humans always found a way of surprising him.

Romulus presented their marriage contract to the _auspex_ , who passed it to his best man, Aldrich, and the priest. Aldrich met Romulus’ stare and for a moment, his heart stopped. This may not be his first or last wedding, but it would be her _only_ one. Could he make her happy?

As if reading his mind, Aldrich gave a small, barely perceptible nod. 

As one of the only other men like _him_ that he’d met, Romulus had to believe that to an extent, he really did know what was on his mind. Aldrich himself never married – his faith in their nuptials spoke all the louder as a result.

For their ceremony, they needed ten witnesses; most of them were Romulus’. As the witnesses marked their approval, Romulus looked to the veil again, searching the orange fabric for any sign of discontent, any sign of fear or repulsion. 

He found nothing.

Romulus left her to the _cena_ and gifts as he finished up with the preparations for the wedding procession. 

The _pompa_ had quite a ways to go; from her family’s hut by the agricultural sector, into the main area of the city, to where his home was, more centrally located. The procession snaked and wound, with great fanfare and celebration; he wanted her to know from the very start that he considered their marriage, an occasion to be celebrated. Romulus was never one to skimp on celebration, least of all, his own wedding.

On the way, she caught her voice, low and soft, almost swallowed up by the sounds of the procession, and the way those around the city caught on and joined in; “There’s so much…”

Romulus wished he could take her hand again. He leaned towards her, angling his head so she could better hear him.

“It’s all for you,” he said. “I’m happy to be here with you.”

They reached his home – _their_ new home. He wondered if she was impressed. She’d certainly be comfortable, her work-rough hands would be able to soften if she wanted them to. 

Now was a part that Romulus found a bit strange, but so was tradition, and they wouldn’t be the ones to break it.

He watched as she fled to her mother’s waiting arms. Romulus, as the groom would ‘steal’ her away, in a reenactment of the rape of the Sabine women. After that, some men from her family and her parents were to take over as her escorts.

A shower of walnuts sailed over her – for fertility. What a waste. For this, Romulus almost felt guilty; he could never give her children the way a human man could.

In her hands, he spotted the spindle, symbolizing her role as the weaver. He joined in the chorus of voices calling out in the Fescennine verses as they lit the torches. The flames went up with enthusiasm; he could relate, again his heart was set aflame.

Under their glow – this is where Romulus left her, for the last time so long as she lived.

Jokes and calls to goodwill fell at his back as he turned to go ahead. 

Romulus ran ahead to meet her at the threshold of the home they’d share. 

In the setting sun, the torch flames moved in a ghost-like pattern before being extinguished. 

In the dark, she knelt, still veiled, at the stone, anointing it with fat and oil. He watched her wreathe it in wool. It was official; this was their home – of her own hands as it was of his. He felt a swell of pride in his chest. 

When she was finished with this he knelt to take her up in his arms. 

He was simultaneously surprised and pleased with how tightly she clung to him.

He was careful as he carried them across the threshold.

“There’s no way _you_ can trip in my arms. You can relax,” he murmured with their backs now to the crowd outside.

“What if _you_ trip?”

Romulus laughed, not expecting the retort.

“For you, I’d never.”

He set her down, kicking the door shut behind them. He was quiet for a few moments, watching as she ventured in a few steps forward and lifted her veil, her eyes searching his home, christening his walls with her very presence. Her back was to him. He still hadn’t seen her face that day.

It must’ve been grand to her – grander than what she lived in before.

She turned her head, his home being big enough that she couldn’t take it all in with one settled line of sight like he could hers. She turned to him and his breath sat suspended in him. 

They wore mirrored expressions; enticement, amazement, uncertainty.

Despite this, she looked almost a stranger to him; the woman he’d spied in the market over the years looked different than this woman, in her wedding attire and standing in his – now their – home. He felt like maybe he had in fact died, and that this was simply what the Gods played before his eyes and in his mind to make it less agonizing. 

“Do you like it?”

He spoke up, stepping up behind her, unable to contain his own curiosity.

“I _do_ like it.” As she said this, Romulus stepped forward, wanting to try to touch her again, more curious as to see how she would respond to him rather than of pure desperation to feel her. “It’s wonderful but-“ 

Her voice broke off and she stiffened when his hands snaked around her waist, his broad chest at her back. 

Romulus withdrew at once. He could be a patient man. Two or three wives ago, he’d been banished to separate sleeping quarters the first two months of marriage, in order to prove his trustworthiness.

From his experience, spouses and lovers were as good as they got, much like a garden; likewise, he knew very few men who beat their wives _and_ were happy.

She turned to him, her eyes glittering. She looked like she wanted to say something, her fingers poised delicately in a mid-fidget by her waist.

“I’m not sure…why you married me. I had no dowry. I’m…not so fresh from my girlhood either.”

“Ah, yes, both issues I’ve already addressed with your father.”

Her head tilted slightly; light spilled down one side of her face, illuminating her delicate brow bone and the soft flat of her cheek.

“Won’t you address them with me too?”

The softness in her voice brought out a similar swelling softness in his chest. He wanted to run his fingers across her skin and give her face a reason to shift and contort. He thought of how she looked straight out of the bath; slick and gleaming, with her tunic still clinging to her at some points. He wanted to see all of that up close and more. 

He felt a stirring in his cock, but ignored it for now; the time was not quite right.

He met her eyes earnestly and was at once put at ease with what was struck between them.

“I saw you and I liked you.”

“That can’t possibly be the _real_ reason.”

The corner of her lips twitched, and the slight furrow to her brow had vanished. 

Romulus chuckled and went to the small table set off by the water in the atrium. Light glittered off the surface like gold and silver fish; oil lamplight and moonlight, respectively.

The sound of the water lapping at stone set him at ease, and he found himself smiling as he poured the wine he’d earlier set aside, into the two _cimbium_. He filled them partially before adding the water from the other _asko_. 

“Come sit with me, drink with me, and I can tell you more.”

He held both cups and offered her one as she picked her way to him. 

Here, closer to the oil lamp, he could see her whole face, and much better. In this cozy nook of light in the dim atrium, Romulus thought she looked more at home here than he’d seen her yet. He felt a fluttering of hope inside of him.

He raised his glass to her and she mimicked him; the gesture looked uncertain with her hand. She lowered her cup when he did and they both took a sip. He watched her face carefully.

“Have you drank before?”

She paused.

“No. My father didn’t permit it.”

“You needn’t worry about the same thing from me.”

He enjoyed a drink himself, he saw no grounds on which to deny his wife one.

She looked from his face to the glass, then she took another sip. 

This time, she let her face lapse into a small cringe.

“Is it always so…strong?”

Romulus laughed.

“That’s how it tastes mixed with water.”

She gave a little laugh too, and the sound sparked heat in his chest. 

She set her cup down and looked at him, smiling a bit more openly now.

“So then, you said you’d tell me more.”

Romulus gestured with both hands for her to continue.

“I don’t understand your answer – ‘you saw me and liked me’. What, you were ‘bewitched’ by my beauty?”

She had meant the last part in a teasing manner but still found a twinge in her chest when Romulus answered.

“No,” he said. “Not your beauty. It’s more…the feeling I get when I look at you.”

She waited, watching him expectantly. He floundered for a few moments in the beginnings of vocal fry, his mouth moving to anticipate his words before he found them too clumsy and took them back.

“I can’t quite explain it,” he admitted. “But it’s a good feeling.”

She was peering at her cup as he said this, tracing her finger around the rim. The deep maroon of the wine looked like blood in this light.

“That’s more than what I could say of you, I suppose.” Their eyes met and she felt a pang of guilt in her chest. “I think I’m starting to get a good feeling about you too.”

A few moments of silence passed; Romulus basked in it. The light from the oil lamp gave a little quiver.

“You seem like a good man,” she said, not a little quietly.

Romulus laughed. His heart was giddy at this, but he couldn’t agree.

“I’ve seen you around town too, you know. Even when I was a little girl.”

Their eyes met, and suddenly the air between them felt hotter than the lamp. Romulus’ heart skipped a beat; lusting for her from afar was one thing – now things were real. She was no longer just a vision in his dreams, but his wife. She would catch onto his truth sooner or later; maybe not now, or tomorrow, but the years would slip through their fingers like water. 

She would grow older, he would not.

He would watch her slip through his fingers like water too.

The inside of his skin felt like he was about to go up in flames. 

“You went by another name then. The same one my mother knew you by when she saw you in the market when _she_ was a young girl.” Her eyes flashed like stolen aureus’. “You look just the same.”

Romulus took a deep sip of wine. He trained his eyes on her, wondering if she’d wilt.

“I see, and you can confirm such claims with your own eyes?”

Her cheeks warmed.

“You look like the very same Remus Varius from my girlhood – the one who went missing in action.”

“I see.”

There was another beat of silence.

“But he isn’t missing at all, is he?” She ignored his question. “My mother doesn’t believe Remus is missing either.”

Romulus studied her and tried to call to mind another woman at the market, like her. Was there anyone with her eyes? He felt like he’d know.

“And if I were to say that…Remus Varius was my father?”

She made a face and he laughed again.

“What you speak of…I’ll tell you eventually, as it’s your right to know as my wife.” Her cheeks warmed at the word ‘wife’. “But there is too much to tell you all of it tonight. It’s getting late.”

Romulus considered it a right of all the wives he’d had before, ever since he’d tried to ignore the topic with his first wife, which only led to confusion and tragedy that time still hadn’t completely rinsed away.

He wouldn’t think of that tonight though, on his wedding night. He rose from the table and a moment later, she followed his lead. They walked quietly and Romulus made sure not to turn back and crowd her too much as he led her to the bed chambers. 


	2. The Wedding Night

She followed him to where a short hall opened up, and stone stairs curled around into the home’s upper level. More oil lamps tucked into little holds in the wall ensured they weren’t shrouded in the dark. 

When their path up the stairwell and down the upper level’s corridor opened up into a bedroom, she was once again overtaken by the loveliness of which he lived.

In the corner of the room, was a fine little table, with a bowl of water and linen draped beside it. A jug sat atop it too, and she would’ve bet that’s where the fragrant smell wafting about the room was coming from; sage and something else she couldn’t quite identify.

The wood frame of the bed was intricately carved and decorated with bronze; worn and yet laden with something that could withstand the sands of time, much like the man who slept in it. It sat on a raised wooden platform, where a matching wooden stepstool was tucked neatly beside in order to mount it. The headboard’s intricate scene, carved into the wood, was painted with a myriad of colors she had seldom seen in her family’s home. The posts by the foot at the bed were decorated similarly.

The mattress looked fuller than the one she was used to; plush and draped in colorfully dyed fabrics. Little colorful pillows clustered at the head, practically asking her to lay across them. A dull ache at the base of her neck throbbed its approval at the notion. For a moment, she forgot about any apprehension leading up to ‘bedtime’. 

Then she remembered the man quietly flanking her as she took in the room and she felt a clammy sweat wash at her palms.

It was their wedding night; Romulus had long been trying to stave off thoughts of where the night would end up, knowing through his experience, that brides often weren’t nearly as excited about it as the grooms were. 

This was a mentality he’d long done away with, having picked up more than a few ways to please his partner. When he looked at his bride now though, her body seemed pulled taut. 

He’d seen fear often enough to recognize it well. He didn’t want her to be afraid of him, or the bed they’d share.

“You haven’t lain with a man before.” 

It wasn’t a question, for obvious reasons. 

His voice rang out into the quiet of the room. No more could they hear the peaceful lap of the water in the atrium. Her face warmed, though it was barely perceptible with how the rest of her seemed to warm too, expectant and afraid.

“But you’ve lain with a woman,” she returned.

Romulus hesitated.

“Yes.”

“Many?”

Romulus had an honest answer for her question, but he sensed it wouldn’t please her, and as such, he decided it had no place here tonight. He countered her question with one of his own.

“Do you know what to do?”

Now it was she who let silence steep into the air, simmering the building tension with the weights of their expectations.

“Will you let me teach you?” He asked.

Her eyes were wide, vigilant like she was afraid of missing any movement he made. She gave a small nod and even beneath the layers of her tunic, Romulus could make out how her chest rose and fell steeply.

The quiet returned; Romulus was painfully aware of how far apart they were standing in the room. One would have to go to another. They were oriented like strangers right now, rather than husband and wife.

Romulus entertained guests more gracefully, which meant they were too clumsy to be lovers – and technically they weren’t, not yet at least.

A few moments passed.

“I should…I should disrobe,” she said quietly.

He noticed she was fidgeting at her tunic. She could go no further until he undid the knot at her waist. 

Romulus crossed the distance between them and reached forward slowly, watching the way her eyes followed his hands. She seemed to withdraw into herself as he neared her. 

Romulus did not touch her belt, instead, setting his hands on hers to still their agitated movements.

“We don’t need to rush through this,” he said in a gentle voice. “We can take our time.”

From this proximity, she could feel how his body heat radiated through the thin material of their clothes. He seemed to burn like a torch, and so she thought, marriage must mean never going cold again.

Tension crackled between them. Romulus watched her, trying to see if he could sense some of the tension leaving her body.

His hand went up to gently cup her face. She stiffened but didn’t pull away. She turned her eyes to him.

“Have you ever kissed a man before?”

Her lips twitched.

“Twice before.”

A part of Romulus was piqued with curiosity; who had it been? 

When? Had she been hoping for someone else to ask for her hand? Had she kissed another, or had he kissed her? 

Did they steal into the woods, where nobody could snipe and sneer about the state of her honor, which Romulus often found, was at war with the state of the heart?

He bowed his head forward slowly, his grip loose enough that she could pull away if she wanted to. His nose brushed hers and her eyes fluttered shut. Their breath mingled together, fanning the fires that licked at their skin.

He pressed his mouth to hers softly, not moving yet, wanting at first to see if she was okay with touching him. He was surprised when instead, she moved her lips first, taking a lead he’d never considered anything but his, kissing him with the same softness but with a little more depth. 

She made a little pleased sound at the back of her throat; a sound that made his cock throb. Her hands came up to hold his face to hers gently, cupping at his cheeks, fingers brushing shyly at the light scruff of his stubble. 

He’d been wanting for her for so long, that he couldn’t help but be swept away with how readily she seemed to accept him into her arms. He parted his lips, waiting for her to follow his lead, and when she did, he slipped his tongue into her mouth. 

She tasted of wine, as he was sure he did as well.

There was something else there though, that was infinitely more intoxicating.

She gasped when his arms tightened around her, pulling against his chest. He’d been hard since she’d started kissing him back; he wondered if she could feel his erection caught between them.

Her lips moved a little slowly against his – a fact he found rather endearing. At the same time, he wanted to surprise her with his prowess; wanted to unfurl this maiden beneath him and peel away her innocent shell. 

He wanted them to be a mirror for each other; he wanted a confidant and someone to dote on him, so in turn, he could be her protector. More than that though, he wanted a partner and companion.

He traced his tongue along her bottom lip and relished in how she shivered into him. He parted his lips, trying to bait her into using her tongue. 

When she did, he caught it lightly between his teeth in a playful nip. 

She squeaked, jolting in his arms but unable to escape.

He broke the kiss long enough to let out a little laugh, nosing affectionately against her. Her face warmed, and he held her tight; the slight friction between her clothed body and his cock flared at his arousal.

Her hands fell to his shoulders now, balling the light material of his toga in her hands. He pressed another chaste kiss to her mouth.

“I’m sorry,” he gave her a sheepish smile. “I couldn’t help myself.”

Her lips were pressed tightly together as if trying to stave off the warmth in her cheeks. Her brow was in an intense, little furrow, but the way she watched him made it seem like she was curious as to what he might do next. 

With her body soft and warm against his, he had a pretty good idea of where he wanted to start.

He took her hands together in his, bringing them up to his lips so he could kiss them before he brought them to the light fabric swept about his shoulders and draped over his arms. 

“Would you help me undress?”

“I, ah-“

“First this…” he moved his hands with hers, helping her shift and move the generous fabric of his toga from his body.

Both of them let the garment fall to the floor. He paused, giving her a few moments to adjust to the idea of undressing. Her eyes flicked down the length of his thick arms, tracing the puckered scar tissue that warped and marred his olive skin.

“Now the rest.”

He helped her his hands guiding the material off and onto the floor as well. He was left only in his loincloth. She caught the bulge beneath the fitted knot of the cloth and then she was tearing her eyes away, her face burning.

The thought of baring him down there made her think of her own sex, which was still pounding from their kiss. In following this train of thought, she’d gone quiet, which Romulus took for shyness.

“You can touch me.”

He took her hand again and guided it to him, splaying her fingers flat against his chest. She let it rest there for a few moments, taking in the heat of his skin, the firm play of muscle, and the wiry, dark hair.

He had scars here; thin, white stripes that crisscrossed at his chest, and a thicker patch of scar tissue knotted just beneath his ribcage.

His chest rose and fell as she let her hands trail down. She felt him twitch under his touch, a warm hum of content sounding in his throat.

“You’re very handsome,” she murmured. 

She didn’t need to look at his face to know that he was proud.

Her touch lingered at where he disappeared beneath the loincloth; she hesitated. His hands came down, thumbs slipping beneath the fabric. She watched mutely as he pulled the cloth loose.

He was naked before her now, his eyes trained on her as she studied his erect cock. He ached to know what was running through her mind; she probably had never seen one before.

He was thick, and with a crop of thick, dark hair at the base of him. 

She stood statuesque, not daring to let her hand drift down and wrap around him fully.

“You don’t seem so…shy about being naked.”

When he responded, it almost sounded like a purr.

“What’s there to be shy about? It’s only me and my wife here.”

She was still watching it and the peculiarly buoyant angle it extended in from his body. Now she couldn’t shake the thought of reaching for it. How hard was it? Was his skin soft down there as well?

“Now, it’s your turn.”

Her hand fell from him as he reached for her belt and began unknotting it. She watched it with intensity; it felt like they were crossing another sort of threshold here, as he tugged it loose and banished it to join the pool of fabric at the floor. The veil, that had remained loosely sheathed around intricate coils of hair, was finally shucked completely, which left her tunic. 

He fingered at where the fabric sat at her shoulders.

“Can I take it off?”

He was watching her through the thick fringe of his lashes. 

Her face burned; how could she say ‘no’ when he was looking at her like that?

She didn’t answer, instead reaching up to thumb the shoulders of her tunic herself. She slipped one down, baring her shoulder. Her eyes never left Romulus’. She wondered if he’d be able to discern the wetness in her loincloth with the rest of her clothes gone. Romulus tugged the other loop of fabric down her arm and guided the garment down over her body. She steeled herself as his gaze flicked downwards, taking in the smooth expanse of skin gleaned to him.

She felt small in just her underwear; the cloth wrapped around her breasts and her loincloth leaving enough to the imagination that Romulus’ desire seemed like it doubled and then doubled again.

He resisted the urge to touch himself at the sight of her.

She seemed to be waiting for him to pull the remainder of her scanty coverings off, and for a moment, he was going to do just that. He reached up, tracing his finger down from her collarbone, to where the valley of her breasts began and disappeared beneath her chest covering.

He paused, his eyes roving back up to her face to study her.

Her hair was still ornately braided and coiled atop her head. 

Romulus was overcome with the urge to see her hair splayed out around her and curling over her shoulders. 

“Take down your hair.”

His voice was warm and smoldering. He watched her reach up, her body bathed in the ambrosiac light of the oil lamps, as she reached up and pushed the pins from her hair, unspooling sections. With a handful of pins, she turned and walked them over to the little table. Romulus noticed the way her body shifted with her movement. She hadn’t combed through the winding curls that still kinked her hair, and he could make out sprigs of wildflowers caught in the snarls. 

Gods, he’d never been so tempted in his life.

She returned to her former spot just in front of him; he was glad he’d asked this of her.

“I think I’m rather bewitched now.”

And he was. His mouth was dry at the sight of her. Romulus had half a mind to kiss her again.

She was hyperaware of the way her strophium tightened around her with each fervent breath she took in. She thought he must’ve noticed this too, and the strain of her against the material.

His hand went down to her hip and pulled her closer to him. She was so _soft_ – he didn’t even notice how her legs were shaking.

Romulus’ touch trailed up her side until he reached her breast covering. 

With a sharp tug, the carefully fastened garment relaxed and fell to the floor. 

Right away, she raised an arm to cover her breasts. Romulus decidedly ignored this in favor of removing her loincloth as well. Then, with a firm grasp, he pushed her arm away so he could get a better view of her body; her skin looked even softer when completely unburdened by clothes, her nipples hard and just begging to be sucked. Between her legs, there was a tuft of hair, hiding the slick seam of her cunt.

“Turn around for me.”

His eyes flashed and for a few moments, she did nothing, either thinking such instruction was too bizarre that it didn’t automatically compute, or that he must’ve been joking.

When she didn’t move and his expression remained the same, she understood that he was abundantly serious.

She looked like she wanted to say something, her brow drawing into a furrow as some distant corner of the room seemed to draw her gaze. She knew better than to question her husband on their wedding night though even with how patient and gentile as this one seemed. 

Her nails pinched crescent moons into the palm of her hand as she turned slowly, practically feeling how his eyes trailed fire over her skin, taking in every crevice and detail of her physique. She felt herself clench emptily, and wondered if he could detect the wetness that had been gathering there, just by being so close.

As she turned to face him once more, Romulus reached out to catch her by her hip again, dragging her to him. She yelped, startled, her hands finding his chest as he gave her ass a sharp squeeze. She could feel the hair at his chest teasing at her nipples, his skin warm under her and blistering where his cock prodded at her thigh. Her face seared red.

“Mm, you’re so soft,” he breathed.

His hand stroked down her hair, combing through the ends, fingers skimming down her back. Somehow, he reworked even the tough, callused skin at his hands into something tender.

Her fingers tensed at his chest as she pressed herself closer to him. 

Her head bowed, her forehead bracing against his skin, leaching in the comfort his warmth provided her.

“Are we going to…?”

“Not yet. You need to relax more first.”

“Oh?” She lifted her head from his chest to peer up at him.

“It’ll hurt otherwise.”

“Ah, really…”

Her brow pulled into a furrow and he reached up to take her chin in his large hand again. Though she was already looking at him, the gesture told her that what he was about to say, he was most adamant about.

“I want both of us to only feel good tonight.” His eyes held hers with a quiet intensity. “Go sit on the bed.”

Again, he watched her as she pulled away from him and started towards the bed. He watched the movement of her body as she kicked her shoes off and climbed the steps; the gentle shift of her and the way her muscles moved were near hypnotizing. He would’ve gone to her and helped her up the steps had he not another task at hand.

Before going to the bed, Romulus made a detour to the little desk and grabbed the jug with the finely scented oils inside. 

He brought it to where she was, climbing the steps and moving to perch at the edge of it. She was on the bed, her legs curled, her arms folded around herself again.

Romulus clucked his tongue, and the gesture was so motherly and bizarre coming from his grizzled stature, that she was almost startled into letting her guard down.

“Drop your arms; I’m your husband now. I’ll be seeing you like this often.”

This time, he didn’t even have to pull her arm away. At his admonishment, her arm dropped to her lap. She obeyed because, as he’d said, he was her husband - she had to. 

Romulus tilted the jug with one hand and caught a generous palm-full of the oil with the other. Released from the clay, it sharpened the air with its spiced scent.

Setting the jug down on the raised wooden platform by their feet, Romulus rubbed his hands together, spreading the slickness between them.

“Besides, you’re too lovely to hide away.” His voice softened considerably. “Now, come sit on my lap.”

His erection was still curled up against his stomach; she looked at it, a little dubious as if wondering how they both might fit on his lap. After a few moments of him waiting for her though, she acquiesced, knowing well that the instruction hadn’t been a request.

She crawled the short distance to him, her breasts hanging from the way her posture bent in on itself. She seemed to struggle with how exactly to maneuver herself onto his lap, not having done this with a man before.

Romulus helped her, his hands slipping around her waist to pull her more substantially onto him. She sat awkward, stiff, feeling his cock at her lower back. She squirmed, wondering if he could feel her wet sex against his thighs.

His hands left her waist and smoothed up to her back, rubbing soothing, little circles into the gentle play of muscle. She seemed to resist his touch at first, tensing against him like she refused to bend to him. 

“Relax,” he soothed, his fingers pressing skillfully into her skin.

Gradually, he felt the tautness in her body start to give away under his fingers.

“There we are,” he murmured, his voice soft like summer rain, as it whispered out against her neck.

She leaned back into his touch, unable to resist his warmth. At the insistent press of his cock against her and his bare chest at her back, she was reminded of their nakedness, and she blushed.

As she leaned into him, his hands lost their place at her back and slipped easily around her to find her breasts.

The silky glide of the oil in his hands against the softness of her skin was deliriously good as he gave her a squeeze. When she breathed, she felt her push more of herself into his grasp. The heat at her face intensified; she felt feverish. 

He never spoke as he fondled her gently, and she let out a soft moan.

Romulus pinched lightly at the hardened peaks of her breasts, delighting in how she arched into his touch, shifting her hips as she ground unwittingly against him.

Both of their breathing roughened; she could feel his breath curling around the shell of her ear and wanted desperately to see what else she could drag through the sound.

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest.

“Mm, you feel lovely in my hands.”

She turned her head away, feeling lewd.

“Look,” he brushed his lips at the back of her neck. “Look at how you fill them.”

At his request, she peered down at how he cupped her breasts, opening his fingers to bounce the soft, swells gently in his hands.

He was right; they looked like a perfect fit. 

She watched as he gave her another light squeeze before trailing his hands further down. The light drag of his fingers made her skin twitch as she watched him with glassy eyes. 

The scent of sage was so strong it was almost fogging her mind; their wedding felt like it had been a lifetime ago. 

The man that was a complete stranger was all she knew within the confines of this room.

She couldn’t look away from his hands; suddenly, she was incredibly aware of just how wet she was. 

Her thighs parted automatically as he neared the curls at the apex of her thighs.

He chuckled again and though she felt heat bathe her face and neck again, her initial shyness took a backseat to her curiosity at how he’d touch her next. Romulus smoothed his hands down her thighs, rubbing inwards to the sensitive skin on the insides of her thighs. His fingers traced the stretchmarks webbed at her skin, almost reverently, like they were lines painted onto pottery.

When his hands returned to the give at her hips and the outsides of her thighs, he fondled the soft, weighty flesh here, pinching lovingly, before moving inwards once again.

Through these ministrations, she could make out the sting of her bite into her lip as she kept her voice at bay. Romulus moved his hands inwards again, watching her face twitch. 

His fingers drew perilously close to her sex and when he paused, she felt like she had as well.

He watched her, she watched his hands.

One had encroached on her slick folds, combing lightly through the hair before tracing his fingers along her wet slit.

Her resolve broke here, and she moaned loudly, again, arching towards him, desperate to shift his fingers further into her folds.

“That’s right, let me hear how good I make you feel.”

He brought his fingers slowly over her sex, pressing deeper into her at a luxurious pace.

“ _Oh_ –“ 

She reached one arm up around his neck, holding her haphazardly to him. The hand that was not pleasuring her, Romulus had hitching a thigh higher up, to spread her further for him.

On one upwards stroke, his fingers caught her clit, and he recognized the jolt of her body immediately. His fingers lingered at this spot, switching from a back-and-forth to small, flitted circles. 

She sighed again; a sound that just managed not to trail off into a whine, as her hips twitched, trying to feel the friction he was giving her, harder.

Romulus left his thumb to work her at the surface, his middle finger probing to find her entrance. With her still preoccupied with the shocks of pleasure sent up by how he thumbed her clit, he decided to test a finger out on her, easing it in. 

She slumped against him and he felt her grip around his neck tighten, but she never asked him to stop as he inched his finger into her. 

“How is it?”

Her breathing was labored as he pressed in to the knuckle. Her thigh was still hitched up, and though it felt strange to be entered, it wasn’t unpleasant.

“Different,” she started and thought a little bit. “But not bad.”

He hummed his approval and gave her a few slow pumps with one finger. The drag of the finger inside of her immediately ignited her arousal, sending heat trailing through her. Her thigh twitched and she felt her hips rise unwittingly to meet his hand. A wet sound arose from where he worked her, making the tips of her ears burn.

“Oh, that’s-“ her voice broke off into another low moan, her eyes fluttering shut.

“This is good, but I’ll be much bigger than this.”

At this, she had to wonder how he’d fit at all; she already felt filled as is.

His hand slowed, and demonstratively, as if to deliver on his warning of something bigger to come, another finger teased at her entrance, trying to inch in with the first one. 

Her fingers pinched into him, one at where his shoulder met his neck, and the other by his hip.

With two fingers, he was met with a little resistance, and she felt a faint burn arise in her nether regions.

She let out a little grunt as he pressed in anyway, and his thumb at her thigh started stroking gently. His lips found her neck.

“You’re doing well. Remember to relax.”

His voice tickled at her skin, and she shivered into him, her brow cinching into a furrow.

“ _Romulus_ -“

His face dropped into her neck, nuzzling heatedly, almost distracting her from how his fingers forged past her virgin walls.

“I like that – when you say my name.”

Romulus had both fingers inside her then and had already thrown himself into a gentle pace, pumping in and out. She had wanted to say something to him; maybe his name again, at least to show her appreciation for how he touched her, but then his thumb was nudging at her clit and she felt her stomach flip. His pace was picking up, moving faster, thrusting deeper into her. He angled his fingers slightly up, and she thought he brushed somewhere deep in her, unknowable even to her own hands.

She felt like a basin filled to the brim, ready to spill. Her fingers pinched deeper into his skin and Romulus grunted.

Her legs shook and she felt herself clench around his fingers.

“Oh!”

Her face contorted from the strength of the pleasure he instilled in her before her eyebrows flew up in her surprise at the shivery release of tension she felt between her legs.

A rush of wetness was seeping out onto his hand, past where his fingers were still pumping into her. The clenching continued, her cunt squeezing, nearly pulsating around him. 

Now, as the haze of her arousal dispersed into static into her heavy limbs, the friction of him inside of her was sharp; almost painful, like her nerves were stripped raw and he was rubbing at their frayed ends. Her hips twitched and bucked into his hand, and she let out a low, helpless groan.

“I feel- It feels-“

She felt heavy and damp on him, and her hands reached down to weakly push his hand away.

Romulus grinned.

“Do you feel good? Did you enjoy that?”

She flushed and leaned back against his chest so that her head was tucked under Romulus’ chin.

“What _happened_?”

“It’ll make it easier for you to take me –“ she burned at this wording “-I want to try and make it happen again before the night is done. For now, though, I want to see if you can take one more finger.”

The friction was still abrasive against her sensitive skin; every movement inside of her felt like an electric shock. When Romulus tested a third finger inside though, she was too tired to worry about it. 

At the back of her mind, she was amazed by the absence of the burning she’d felt with two fingers; she felt the shift of her muscle like he was simply moving past it, and her body let him. 

He pushed in to the knuckle and then started pumping at his original, gentle pace again.

She gasped as at once, her body took to the movements.

“Oh-“

“It doesn’t hurt?”

Her face warmed.

“Just the opposite,” she pinched her eyes shut and leaned her cheek against his shoulder. His scent was a mixture of the sage oil and his sweat. That paired with the sound of him inside of her had her stomach flipping again. “Ah, but I’ve already-“

Romulus chuckled again, his free hand rubbing at the inside of her thigh encouragingly. 

“Don’t hold back.” He gave a little grunt. “You’re so tight and absolutely _dripping_ for me. I’m sure you’ll take me well.”

Her face warmed at this; she couldn’t outwardly admit just how much she wanted to see that come to fruition.

Her stomach flipped again and he felt the familiar pulsating rhythm of her cunt around his fingers. He picked up the pace, wanting to watch as she unraveled for him again.

“Wait-“

This time, when her hands went down to push his away, they were stronger, insistent. Romulus could tell she wasn’t just pushing him away for the sake of looking like she was putting up a fight; there was intent behind her palms.

He acquiesced and pulled out, relishing how she twitched towards him as he did so.

She twisted on his lap, peering up at him, with her hand braced to his chest.

“It’s my turn to make _you_ feel good,” she said, a little shyly.

He raised his eyebrows, not having been expecting that. All the same, he leaned back as if to give her the space to take him in and handle his body properly; handing her the reigns.

“Very well.” One eyebrow lowered, the other remaining at an inquisitive quirk as he watched what she would do next.

She clambered off of his lap, and Romulus waited curiously, as she maneuvered behind him. 

“Do you have any more oil?”

“Of course.”

Romulus felt his chest warm as he leaned over to pick up the jug. He twisted, tilting it carefully into her hands, where the fragrant oil pooled. She waited until he returned it to the wooden platform before he felt her warm hands, slick with sage oil, as they splayed and rubbed into the muscles at his back. 

Her movements were gentler than his own, pinching small bouts of warmth into him. While she may not have been doing much to undo the knots in his muscles, he couldn’t deny that he’d missed a woman’s touch. 

She smoothed her hands up and down his back, pressing her knuckles into where she felt was tenser, and raking her nails lightly across his skin. 

Romulus groaned.

She watched her fingers at his skin, tracing the scars of battles passed, following the notches of his vertebrae through the skin. Touching someone else like this was…nice. 

Uniquely luxurious in a way she couldn’t possibly understand before tonight. 

Without thinking she leaned in and pressed her lips to the space between his shoulder blades, banking on the broadness of his shoulders to hide her from his sight.

Of course, he couldn’t see her; it did nothing to dissuade him from the tenderness of the gesture though.

He sighed contentedly. 

“I’m happy, you know,” he said. “That you can touch me like this.”

‘Like this’. 

She may have been new to matters of the flesh, and newer yet to matters of the heart, but she caught his meaning well enough. He meant, to touch him like a lover; like she wanted to, rather than as if she were just performing a duty.

A pang went through her chest; she didn’t answer.

She smoothed her hands up and over his shoulders, hugging herself close against him. He could clearly feel her plush breasts pressed to him. Her hands splayed at his chest as she moved forward to press her lips to his neck then, mimicking the kiss she’d laid to his back. She could feel Romulus’ breathing pick up under her grasp and her kisses broadened, becoming open-mouthed and as wanting as the man in front of her.

Romulus groaned as her hands continued to creep across his chest, her fingers brushing over his nipples. At the sound he made, she dragged her nails lightly across them and felt him stiffen.

At this, he let out a growl and took her hands in his, guiding them down his body. Down, down, down, she braced herself – she knew where he was taking her.

Her fingers brushed his velvet length and instinctively, she flinched away.

“It’s alright,” he chided. “Don’t be afraid.”

She let him wrap her hand around his length, squeezing his fingers around hers. 

He continued to guide her hand, moving it in a light pumping motion. She could feel his breath catch in his throat, and after a few moments, his hand fell away. 

She kept going.

“Mm,” he grunted. “You’ve got the hang of it.”

She kept pumping, marveling at its structure and the surprisingly soft slip of skin over it.

“It’s hard…but soft too.” She wasn’t looking at it, but even without doing so, she could feel his formidable girth – thicker than three fingers. “Big too.”

Romulus made a satisfied sound at the back of his throat, despite the nervousness that tinged her voice.

“It might hurt a little, but it’ll fit.”

He let her jerk him off for a while longer until he felt himself twitch in her hand, the tension coiling at his groin, trembling with an unfurling edge.

His hand reached for hers, stilling her movements. He didn’t have to turn to her to tell her that it was time; she could tell.

Romulus brought his legs up onto the bed and turned to her, prowling on all fours like he was hunting her.

“Lay on your back.”

He watched as she did, wetness gleaming at her thighs, her breasts jostling delightfully as she shifted onto her back. She lay with her hands loosely about her head, completely yielding to him.

He held himself over her with his arms, careful not to crush her with his weight. He palmed his cock, and guided it to her entrance, tracing his head at her wet folds. 

Her eyes fluttered shut and she found herself grinding down against him.

“Are you ready?” His voice was tight.

His head was aligned with her and already she could feel the resistance of her body against his.

She didn’t answer, looking at him with a peculiar gleam in her eyes. 

Suddenly, her hands came up to catch his face, pulling him in for another soft kiss. This caught Romulus off guard, both the kiss itself and how softly she commandeered his mouth.

His eyes shut as she broke the kiss, pressing her nose to his as if she wanted to draw as much of him in as possible. He opened his eyes first, and a moment later, she followed. 

Immediately, heat sparked in her cheeks.

“Sorry, Romulus.” His heart skipped a beat at the use of his name. “I wanted to kiss you again; I…really like kissing you.”

His heart swelled; now he was fraught with several urges; to crush her to him, to bury himself in her, to stay in this room together, until they grew old and withered away in each other’s arms. He often found himself wishing for impossible things on his wedding nights.

He leaned down, his hand reaching up to tip her face gently towards his.

“Then I will kiss you, always.”

His hand stayed by her face, cupping at the side of her jaw, as he started to push into her. She was so wet and so relaxed from having come already, that he slipped in rather easily. 

There was a faint burn from the shred of nervousness that remained, but for the most part, their hips met and all she felt was full.

He waited for a few moments and forced himself not to move. Gods, was she _tight_. He looked down at her.

“Are you alright?”

“Even better.”

He smiled.

“That’s good.”

It happened so quick, she couldn’t have prepared in any way; one moment she was on her back with her husband buried inside of her, and the next, she gasped, her heart racing as she found herself being rolled over so that now her husband was lying beneath her. The entire movement had been so seamless that she barely felt a shift in the pressure of him inside of her.

Her eyebrows flew up as she scrabbled for a hold at his chest, her hair tousled and tossed like a messy halo.

“I want to do it this way,” he peered up at her, admiring. 

“But…I don’t know what to do.”

“Just move your hips.”

Pink rode high on her cheekbones, and she skirted his gaze as she rolled her hips against his. Now it was Romulus’ turn to react. He gasped, his hands flying for a grasp at her waist.

“Was that okay?”

His grip on her was iron. 

“Like you said, ‘even better’.”

He held her steady, lifting her off of him, only to buck up into her abruptly.

She let out a yelp that tapered off into a breathy whine.

“ _Ah_!”

Her fingers bit into his skin, trying to stay anchored as he pounded upwards into her with a strength that denied her control, even if she was technically on top. He watched how she looked as he took her; her face drawn into that of helpless desire, her breasts bouncing in time with his thrusts, the way her body recoiled inwards in response to his. 

He wanted to see her unfurl before him; he wanted to see this woman blossom.

With each thrust, he let her fall onto his cock, gravity allowing him to reach deeper inside of her, and her surprise at the impact with which he railed into her, making her pulsate around him, like a second heartbeat.

She was at his mercy on top of him, not even in control of how she took his savage thrusts as she clenched unwittingly around him, her stomach flipping familiarly as her blood ran hot and cold.

She clung to him, half afraid she’d fall off; his hands never left her waist, he’d have never let it happen.

“You look so good up there,” he all but purred through his teeth.

On the next thrust, he felt her tremble around him, and so when she fell into him, he caught her and held her down, his hips jerking in rapid-fire against hers, desperate to drive her straight to the end she had been approaching when his fingers were still inside of her.

This time, she did come, and Romulus felt it when she squeezed haphazardly around him as he fucked her through her climax, pushing past her strong muscles, and welcoming the new rush of wetness that seeped out of her.

Again, that hypersensitivity overtook her, and so as Romulus chased his own release, she melted into his arms, shrinking into his chest, with hips that twitched and flinched away from the abrasive fuck. She gasped.

“ _Oh_ , it’s so-“

A clammy sweat suffused their skin, and soon the hot and wet of their union was so much, that he struggled to discern where he ended and where she began.

When he felt his fingers slip against her, he held her harder. His face had reddened from the exertion of their coupling, and both of their chests heaved as they fought for breath. 

Her nails nipped into the flesh at his shoulders and chest, the sting only making his cock twitch inside of her. He hoped she broke the skin, hoped she bruised and scarred him so this night could be permanently branded into him.

He was still thinking of ways to immortalize the night when he finally spilled his seed inside of her. She was slumped onto his chest, and let out a soft mewl at the feel the warm sensation of his spend granted her. She squeezed around him once more for good measure.

Romulus’ arms came to fold around her at once, holding her to his sweat-dampened chest. Her cheek rested right above where his heart was, soaking in its low thud. His softening cock was inside of her; she’d have it nowhere else. 

Despite the fatigue that weighed at his body, Romulus found himself wide awake. He looked down at the woman in his arms and tucked a lock of sweat-soaked hair behind her ear. He wanted to talk to her more; he suddenly ached for the confidence they shared as they sipped wine in the atrium. He yearned for the sound of her voice but could think of nothing of great wit to say to her at that very moment.

Despite being older than anyone else in the city, except for perhaps Aldrich, he found himself as wordless, as thoughtless, and as directionless as a newborn baby, for there were none of these things if there was not her. He truly believed this and almost nothing else at this point in time.

“How are you feeling?” 

His voice was hoarse and soft, almost woolen sounding. When he looked down at her face, he saw that she was practically glowing, her eyes bright. She looked as awake as he felt.

One arm came up to gather loosely around her stomach. Romulus watched her curiously.

“I wonder if…” she flushed and her mouth split into a hopeful little smile. 

“I wonder if you’ve put a baby in me yet.”

Romulus watched her, his heart sinking. Despite the sweat cooling on him and the hot-blooded woman in his arms, he suddenly felt rather cold.

He thought back to when they were drinking together and she’d asked him about his name. He’d told her that he’d tell her all one day – here was another, rather unfortunate thing, he’d have to confess to her. He swallowed, his throat thick.

“Yes,” he said. “I wonder.”


End file.
